Only the Good Die Young
by Montreal's Song
Summary: It couldn't happen to her.  She loved him.  He loved her.  She needed him.  She wanted every fiber of his being and she could never have it.  Never again.  "I loved Noah Puckerman."


**Hi! I'm back! I've decided that Quinn decided to keep Beth, for purposes of this fanfic. I hope you enjoy!**

Puck is dead. Noah Puckerman is dead. I got the call what seems like hours ago. Maybe it has been. The father of my child is dead. There was a brief knock on my door. My body was too numb to move, and my vocal chords were frozen. The door swung open. It was Finn.

"Quinn." His eyes were rimmed red and he had a watery smile plastered on his face. Suddenly, my body seemed to move and I sprung up off the couch into his arms. As we hugged, I began to cry, and felt his body shuddering against mine.

"Where is he?" I asked as the tears dried and the hiccups began.

Finn shrugged. "I don't know. Should we go to his mom's?"

"Why not?" I asked. "Let me get Beth." I scooped Beth up from her crib. She cooed, smiling at me. If only she knew her father was dead. The stroller was sitting on the front porch, and we headed to Puck's. Before Puck's house was in view, we heard muted singing. The Puckerman's house was crowded with people, everyone in the house and pouring into the backyard and street.

"Only the Good Die Young," Finn breathed. I felt tears begin to reform in the corners of my eyes, and as Finn embraced me again, I felt myself begin to cry again. Finn and I made our way to Puck's house, scanning the crowd for other members of New Directions.

"Mercedes!" She swung around and immediately cradled my face in her hands.

"Oh Quinn," she began, "I'm so sorry." It was obvious to tell she had been crying too. She was standing next to Kurt and Rachel, who still seemed to be in shock. They ushered me inside to see Mrs. Puckerman.

The moment I entered the house, I saw a picture of Puck. I screamed. No. I have to get out of here. I cradled Beth in my arms and rushed out of the house, leaving her stroller in the foyer. I rushed through the crowd, ignoring the waves of acknowledgement. This couldn't be happening. How did people smile, laugh, how were they _waving_ to me like the world's okay? I arrived back home as my mother walked in.

"Quinn? Is everything OK?" She asked, carrying a bag of groceries. I walked past her, not facing her. Beth settled when I put her back in her crib. Friday night and Saturday passed in a blur. Once my mom found out about Puck, she came in my room every hour, carrying a tray of cookies and milk. And every hour, I ignored her.

I woke up around seven-thirty on Sunday. The memorial service. Not even a funeral. They said his body was too mauled by the drunk driver and it couldn't be preserved. Dragging myself out of bed, I found a black dress, and threw it on. My hair laid flat on my head. Not like Puck cared anymore.

The day was beautiful and clear, the air was fresh, the sun, peeking out of a single cloud. Just how Puck would have wanted it. Bright, sunny, cheerful, on the day everyone is mourning his death. Beth was already awake, aiming a toothless smile in my direction. I contemplated taking her, but decided against it. _I'll take her to his grave_ I thought.

Arriving at the memorial center, I saw Mrs. Puckerman sitting in a folding chair at the front. Everyone in New Directions was seated in the row behind her, and I saw Mr. Shuester. Then I looked up. There was a blown up picture of Puck, wearing the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. For the next hour as everyone spoke, I stared at Puck, the only person I wanted, the only person I could never have.

"Quinn? Quinn sweetie? Would you like to talk?" Mrs. Puckerman's face was in front of mine. "Honey, would you like to say something before the service is over?" Realizing I was the only person left, I nodded and headed to the front.

"Puck," I began, "was the father of my baby." I took a breath. "He was mean, a real jerk most of the time. Then again, he was soft. I knew it the minute he saw Beth. He loved her as much as I did." I took another breath and tried not to cry. "I loved Noah Puckerman," I uttered before bursting into a fresh set of tears.

Mercedes escorted me off the platform and back home. I peered at Beth over her crib and saw nothing but Puck. For the following weeks, every time I saw someone with a Mohawk I cried. I cried when I saw Beth. I cried when I saw Puck's old locker. I cried when I thought of Hanukah. I cried all the time. By the time it hit December 20, all of my tears had dried. I decided to take Beth to visit Puck's grave. We trekked out on Christmas Eve, when all of my parents' friends congregated in out house. I found his headstone in the cemetery and sat down in front of it. I ran my fingers over the engraved letters. _Noah Puckerman. Only the Good Die Young. Forever in our hearts and minds. _

"Look, Beth," I whispered. "This is where your daddy is." She cooed, and I felt a fresh set of tears form.

**Six Years Later**

"Mommy, where's daddy?" A six-year-old Beth asked me, climbing into my lap. I sighed, hoping this day would never come. "Everyone at school has one but me."

"Bethy, your daddy isn't here anymore. He... he had to go see God."

"You mean, he's dead?" She asked. I nodded. She began to cry. "But I want a daddy!"

"Beth, your daddy isn't here, but he loved you so much. He was very special." Her face lit up through her tears.

"He was? Really?" She asked me, waiting for a story.

"I think it's time to visit your daddy, Beth," I said. 


End file.
